


grand fucking gestures

by jehans



Series: it's for you [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac wants to do something big. What he doesn’t expect is for Jehan to beat him to the punch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grand fucking gestures

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place three days after "i want". Title comes from "maybe i (don’t) like it this way" when Grantaire tells Jehan he was “made for romance and commitment and dinner dates and grand fucking gestures.”

Courfeyrac wants to do something big. When Jehan decides he’s ready — when he figures out what he wants — if what he wants is Courfeyrac, then Courfeyrac wants to make a huge, grand gesture to let him know how precious and lovely and  _cherished_  he is.

What he doesn’t expect is for Jehan to beat him to the punch.

It’s February 17th. Three days after Valentine’s Day, three days since Courfeyrac promised to wait. Turns out he doesn’t have to wait very long.

The back room of the café is like another home to them. The café owner likes them for some godforsaken reason, so it’s always open to them and Enjolras even has a  _key_. They meet there frequently. It serves its purpose well, which is a home base for their meetings and for the completely anonymous and highly inflammatory website the nine of them run together. It’s just a website, but it has a small substantial following, and they’re trying to change the world. Every little bit helps.

But Courfeyrac has been stuck in this little back room all day with Combeferre and Enjolras. They have some amount of proof that the chief of police has mob connections, and they’ve been trying to get the news up all day, but it’s proved harder than it should have been. For one thing, their source keeps changing their story. For another, none of them can agree on anything today, including when and whether they should be posting this without more solid proof.

Courf is about ready to rip his hair out. It’s already standing on end from where he’s been tugging at it all day. Finally, he lets out a kind of roar. “God, can we  _at least_  break for dinner?” he demands. “If I’m going to be here all night and then try to go to my diction and movement class in the morning, I at least need a goddamn burger.”

Enjolras sighs and looks like he’s about to protest, but then Combeferre nudges him and passes him his phone. Enjolras glances at it. Then he nods. “Fine. An hour and we’re back here.”

“ _Good_ ,” Courfeyrac moans, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll see you guys in an hour.” He has  _no_  desire to dine with his two dear, beloved,  _pig-headed_  friends, so he ducks out immediately to go find food himself.

But he does text Jehan on his way.

_I hope your day has been better than mine._

He can’t help but grin when he gets a reply.

_Not bad, actually. Is it really THAT terrible working with E and ‘Ferre?_

Courfeyrac sighs dramatically like Jehan is right in front of him as he ducks into a little deli and types out an answer.

**C:** _They’re ridiculous. We can’t agree on anything._

**J:** _:( I’m sorry._

**C:** _No pressure, and totally a friend thing here: but do you want to get coffee with me tomorrow after your ancient Greece class? I want to hear someone talk about beautiful things and not mobs and corruption and the end of the world._

**J:** _They’re not talking about the end of the world, surely._

**C:** _Please?_

Courfeyrac’s smile almost splits his face when he gets the last response:

_Sure, that would be nice._

It’s with that same stupid grin he finishes his dinner and his hour of freedom, and meanders back to the café. With a great deal of petulant reluctance, Courfeyrac opens the door and shuffles down the stairs and then, finally, he looks up.

Enjolras and Combeferre are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the room is covered in lit candles and bunches of flowers of all sorts. And there’s Jehan. Standing there, radiant, in the middle of the room, holding a bouquet of sunflowers (in  _February_ ), and smiling at him with a mix of fear and pure joy, and Courfeyrac feels like his knees might buckle under him.

“J-Jehan?” he stumbles dumbly.

“I figured it out,” Jehan replies softly, his smile growing into a dazzling grin.

Courfeyrac blinks at him. He _will not cry_. “I was gonna do this,” is all he can manage to say.

Jehan laughs, and the sound is like bells chiming. “You can do it the next time,” he promises and Courfeyrac laughs too. Or maybe he’s crying, he can’t really tell.

But then Jehan holds the sunflowers out to him, and Courfeyrac takes one step forward to take the proffered gift. 

“I figured it out,” Jehan says again. “I don’t want you to fix me, but you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want to —” Courf begins, but Jehan raises a hand.

“Shh, let me finish,” he says and Courfeyrac grins. “I want to fix myself,” he says softly. “Whatever I’m going through, I want to get through it. And I don’t need you to save me. But I do want you to be there. I want you all the time, every day, right here with me. I  _do_  know what I want. I want you.” He smiles wider and his eyes are clear. “I’m in love with you, Courfeyrac,” he breathes. And then, “Is that okay?”

Courfeyrac wants to laugh out loud, he want to burst into tears. He wants everything as once. Instead, he takes the one last step forward to close the gap, not noticing when the flowers fall from his hands, which come up to cup Jehan’s lovely, perfect, freckled face as they finally,  _finally_  kiss.

Jehan is immediately responsive, slipping his arms around Courfeyrac’s neck and kissing him and kissing him and  _kissing him._  Courfeyrac takes one of his hands off of Jehan’s face to wrap it around his waist and pull him closer and closer. They’re flush up against each other and Jehan is gasping into Courfeyrac’s mouth, so Courfeyrac trails kisses across his face then drags his teeth along the bone of his jaw, eliciting a low moan from that lovely, perfect mouth.

“Mine,” Courfeyrac growls a little desperately into Jehan’s skin.

“Yours,” Jehan agrees in a ragged whisper, then slides one hand down Courfeyrac’s chest to cover his heart. “And mine?” he asks breathily.

Courfeyrac presses another kiss into Jehan’s jaw and the nips at his earlobe. “And yours,” he breathes, pushing his body against Jehan’s body like he wants to morph into one person. Jehan clutches at him like he wants that, too. “I love you,” Courfeyrac murmurs as Jehan’s fingers shove into his hair. “I love you so  _goddamn_  much.”

“Kiss me again,” Jehan hisses in his ear.

Courfeyrac grins and obliges.

It isn’t long at all before Jehan is perched on the edge of one of the tables with Courfeyrac between his knees and Courfeyrac’s hands up his sweater on his skin.

“Are we gonna get walked in on at some point?” Courfeyrac asks breathlessly in the tiny space between kisses.

“Mmm,” Jehan moans into his mouth. Then, “No, I made them clear out for the night.”

“How did you do that?” Courfeyrac giggles when Jehan moves to track wet kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

“I’m ferocious when I want to be,” he mumbles into Courfeyrac’s skin.

“I’d like to see that,” Courfeyrac purrs. He can feel Jehan smile against his collarbone.

“You will.”

Courfeyrac positively  _shivers_  at the promise. He ducks his head and mouths at Jehan’s neck, marveling at the miracle that he  _can_  now, and letting his hands slowly slide down Jehan’s sides to his hips, and then to the button on his pale, floral-patterened jeans, which he undoes. Jehan actually lifts his hips up off the table so Courfeyrac can slip those jeans off of him, and his boxers too, while Jehan strips out of his own sweater and the shirt underneath.

“ _Oh,_ ” Courfeyrac breathes out, casting wondering eyes over Jehan’s pale, lean frame as he climbs up onto the table over him and Jehan tugs at his shirt. “You’re so beautiful.”

Jehan’s whole face goes bright pink under his freckles as he grins. “Get your damn shirt off,” he mumbles, and Courfeyrac smiles back and does as he’s told. Once his pants have also been done away with, and Jehan is lying back on the table with Courfeyrac over him, laying kisses onto his bare chest, Jehan lifts his head and pulls Courfeyrac up to fiercely kiss him again. Courfeyrac grinds his hips down onto Jehan’s, delighting in the deep-throated moan this causes in the poet, then he reaches between them and circles his fingers around Jehan, who arches into him and moans again.

They find a rhythm pretty quickly, and soon it’s nothing but thrusting and grinding and stroking, mouthing and kissing and lips and tongues and teeth and Courfeyrac vaguely thinks that he doesn’t even need to attend his diction and movement class with this kind of training, but then Jehan is whispering goddamn _poetry_  in his ear as his fingers grasp at Courfeyrac’s glistening skin and sex just isn’t  _like_  this — not in real life. But with Jehan it is. And he’s still reciting as Courfeyrac comes, and he’s still breathing out the words like they’re a part of him as he thrusts once, twice more and then reaches his own climax. And he’s so fucking gorgeous, like a sculpture or painting come to life. And when his poem is finished, Courfeyrac lays on him, breathing him in, the salt of his sweat, and kisses him, languid and lingering, and then whispers, “ _You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars._ ”

Jehan gazes at him with loving, half-lidded eyes and smiles, reaching up to brush sweat-dampened fingers over the jut of Courfeyrac’s cheekbone. “You know e.e. cummings?” he asks breathily.

“Only that,” Courfeyrac confesses. “But I mean it.”

Jehan grins at him and pulls him down to be kissed again and again and again, and Courfeyrac feels dizzy with love.


End file.
